This Storm Will Pass
by Supernatural is for Lovers
Summary: "Isn't there some angel who can raise this poor wretch from Perdition?" Castiel frowned at his odd question. But then, he figured, strange questions and phrases were the norm in dreams.


Story begins after linebreak. If you wish to just skip my insane fan-girlness, by all means my lovely.

Mah Jeezus! I'm BACK! *has an absolutely all-encompassing desire to play AC/DC's "Back in Black"* X3

As always, my insane little A/N, this time _before _the festivities begin so I can give you heads-up on some stuff. Firstly that this has mini-spoilers up until mid season 5, but honestly not anything that's going to give away the big drama drama angst angst plotline, not even as much as the little blurbs on Fios.

Alrighty, the fangirl bug has clamped over my heart, and it has completely eroded my desire to write any of my own stories, instead staring blandly at me while shoving a computer logged on to FanFiction into my hands claiming simply that "Resistance is Futile." But really, it's not like any of us were trying. (Oh yeah, totally stole that from your icon James, it was ridiculously funny)

Okay, so I'm just so damn happy to finally be posting again, and I just wanted to clarify some things real quick.

1: Yes, if the dream seems familiar, that because the precedent has existed somewhere before. Cyber-cookies and steamy hot Dean pics to anyone who knows where!  
2: This is set somewhere in the early 5th season. I know Ruby became a shish-ka-Demon 4's end, but Dean didn't really start giving in to the whole "yes" temptation until a little later in 5. It's a dream though. If you really need it to make sense to you cuz it's bothering you that bad, then consider it this way; Sam was holding a beer and a demon. Kinda a dream's way of emulating drinking demon blood if you ask me. And yeah, that was just pulled right out of my ass, but you know, it works. Kthnxbai!  
2.5: I understand that Cas kinda chilled with the whole "Let's watch him like a rapist while he sleeps" bit, but really, for the sake of my need to write hurt/comfort, let's just go along with it, please?  
3: I own absolutely nothing in the world but the clothes on my back and a hard-drive full of SPN pics. So, in the extremely apropos words of Jensen Ackles, "Damn you, Eric Kripke!" for owning something which, in my demented little fangirl hands would be, of course, much more... demented. X3  
4: Destiel? Yes my loves. Destiel.  
5: Slash warning? Nope, not even a little. Okay maybe a tiiiiiiny bit. But I mean, really. This is Dean. It could have been a hell of a lot more graphic.  
6: This list is very long, and doesn't have much of a point does it? No. No it doesn't. I'll shut up now. Grab your tissues sweeties. This one is just a shameless "Let's make Dean suffer because really going to hell and losing Sam and his dad and bearing the cross of having started the Apocalypse (oops shit, spoiler :P) and losing everything and everyone he ever dares let himself care about isn't anywhere _near _enough pain for the man to have to bear." Okay I'm done. I just really, after these last few eps and their effect on my mental state, needed some good old h/c with my favorite Winchester (sorry Sam girls, but really, have you _seen_ Dean? pshaw, I rest my case). But we all know in Dean's masochistic little head there is no "c" allowed in the h/c equation unless the "h" part is enough to _kill _anyone else. But thank the lord (lol I like irony) for a certain angel who (up until a couple episodes ago, wtf, seriously, I think Kripke had PMS during the construction of _those _eps) has always had Dean's back. Now, let's see what happens! *dramatically whips aside curtain*

* * *

Snow. Endless planes of unforgiving white; ice-cold and waist-deep. The threadbare button-down and tattered jeans he wore did little to stave off the biting cold as he struggled on barefoot through the fierce blizzard.

Castiel hovered- silent, invisible- watching in quiet confusion as Dean fought his way across the barren wasteland. He had only intended to watch over the man as he slept, nothing more, but the ferocity of his restlessness and painful look that contorted his sleeping face piqued the angel's curiosity. Unable to resist the temptation of finding what bothered the man who let so little of his emotions show, Cas had decided to become a proverbial 'fly on the wall.' Maybe he could glean something from this that would help him understand the introverted hunter to some degree. So far he had seen nothing but this ferocious blizzard that Dean seemed familiarly resigned to struggle though. His face and feet were a painful red from the relentless cold, his exposed skin a sickly-mottled color. But the elder Winchester said nothing as he trudged on the through the never-changing landscape.

Until he fell.

Dean lay face-down in the snow, one arm trapped beneath him, the other reaching blindly ahead. Castiel watched as he forced himself onto his back and stared blankly up at the raging sky. His hair was soaked black by melted snow and plastered against his head, his teeth chattering from the cold. He panted faintly, small puffs of white appearing with each breath. Still he didn't move even as the flakes of snow began covering him. Soon he would be indistinguishable from the banks of white that engulfed him. "I just want to be warm," he whispered quietly to the blanketing snow. "Just once, let me be warm."

At the small echo of pain in his voice, Castiel wanted nothing more but to reach out to him. He had taken several steps towards the fallen man without even thinking, but then caught himself. He remained cloaked, wary of the Winchester's wrath should he be found eavesdropping on him at such a vulnerable time, and how that might affect Dean's already tenuous trust of him. He was only here to observe and learn, he reminded himself.

Suddenly the hunter thrashed viciously, rolling back over and struggling to his feet. "I won't die," he snarled to the obsidian sky, gaining speed as he continued. "You hear me Michael? Zachariah? I won't give either of you son of a bitches the satisfaction!"

Castiel followed silently, marveling at the strength of Dean's resolve. He began to wonder why, if he were so adamant about his decision here, why he seemed so uncertain of his resistance during the day. His desire to understand him continued to climb as he followed Dean who was now running at a surprising clip through the snow. He was led to a small, dilapidated building he recognized as Ellen's roadhouse. The lights were aglow inside, and the windows shone like bright beacons in the hopelessness of the arctic storm. It reminded Castiel a bit of his home at that moment.

He heard rowdy laughter inside, conversations and joking. It sounded like an enormous party.

Dean stumbled up to one of the frosted windows, laying his hand against the glass and staring inside like a starving homeless man watching the patrons of a five-star restaurant.

Castiel peered over his shoulder. The building was filled with hunters celebrating something while an enormous fire roared in a fireplace. Food and drinks flowed freely while the close-knit group talked and laughed like old friends.

Like family.

Clenching his frozen hands into fists, Dean headed to the front door. He pounded fiercely on it, calling over the raging winds. "Let me in!"

The door opened slowly to reveal Sam, drink in hand with Ruby leaning possessively against his side. "No one wants you here, Dean." He moved to shut the door in his face.

Dean shot forward, bracing his hand against the door, keeping it open. "Damn you, Sam, let me in!"

Sam stepped backward to reveal Bobby who came forward and blocked Dean's way. "What do you want, boy?"

He met Bobby's gaze, his eyes swimming with pain. "I want to come in," He staggered past his pride and humiliation as he continued. "Please, Bobby. Please let me in."

"You're not welcome here, ya idjit. Nobody needs you."

He shut the door.

Dean pounded against the door, cursing. "Damn you! Damn all of you!" He tried to kick the door in but it wouldn't budge. "Why won't you just let me die then? You son of a bitch, why won't you let me say yes?"

He slumped against the door like a marionette with its strings cut. When he spoke again the anger was gone from his voice. Instead it was replaced by something hollow and needful and aching, and it made Castiel shudder to hear such a broken sound coming from him. "Let me in Sammy, please! I swear, I won't be useless anymore. I'll save you this time. I swear it. Just don't leave me alone. I don't want to be cold anymore. Please!"

Cas felt a sickening twist in his chest claiming his heart as he watched Dean beating against the door, demanding they open it.

No one came.

The laughter inside continued as if he didn't exist.

The angel was floored by the isolation Dean felt. How could he hide such loneliness and abandonment and continue fighting against what, on the best of days, seemed to be the universe itself? With such a gaping rift buried inside him, it was little wonder the hunter's resolve was wavering.

"Fuck you!" he roared, slumping back against the door and sliding down to rest in the snow. "Fuck all of you! I don't need any of you." He stared up into the undying storm, his eyelashes frozen white and lips blue with frost. "I don't need anyone or anything," he said quietly into the night. Only the shine of unshed tears in his eyes gave hint that he most definitely _did_.

Then the dream changed drastically. The roadhouse shifted, morphed until the building Dean leaned against became a vaguely familiar warehouse. The snow stopped falling and the winds died down until the landscape reflected a peaceful, perfect night.

Dean bowed his head almost reverently, speaking to his clasped hands. "Look… I know you and I aren't really on the best of terms, and I've never been one to pray for guidance, but… but I could really use some help," his voice broke over the last words. He looked up into the sky, the moon shining brilliantly as a star.

"Isn't there some angel who can raise this poor wretch from Perdition?" Castiel frowned at his odd question. But then, he figured, strange questions and phrases were the norm in dreams.

Then a quiet rage consumed Dean and he lashed out at the surrounding snow for lack of anything more substantial. "I'm such a fucking idiot, thinking I deserve an angel's help." He sneered dejectedly at his clenched hands. "I don't deserve to be saved."

And there in the echoing, empty night, Dean buried his head in his arms and wept.

Cas was taken aback by the soul-deep resonance of his anguish. He wanted to comfort Dean, but he was in foreign territory when it came to things such as this. All he could do was watch as Dean silently self-destructed while his pain and suffering lanced through the angel like glycerin on glass.

The hunter played so strong during his waking hours. A mountain impervious to any blow dealt him. He lashed out at others with biting sarcasm and kept everyone at arm's length convinced it was his duty, or perhaps even his _penance_, to single-handedly save the world. It was only here, in his subconscious, that Dean showed his true emotions. Only here that Castiel could glimpse his vulnerability; that he could begin to understand the man he dared not show anyone.

All Castiel could think was that somehow he wanted to ease his torment. To show him that he was far from alone in his battles. In all the millennia Castiel had watched over mankind, he had never felt this way about any of them, had never wanted to do something as human as _comfort_ one of them. Dean touched a part of him that he didn't even know existed.

Most of all, he made him _feel_; something that both terrified and thrilled him. Angels weren't supposed to feel, but Castiel _did_. And every emotion he felt was linked to this man.

To Dean.

He couldn't just remain a silent observer to his suffering anymore.

Before he could think better of it, Castiel reappeared inside of the warehouse. The protective sigils peppering the walls, ceiling, and floor supplied the final piece as to the significance of the building. It was the warehouse where he had first appeared to the elder Winchester. Suddenly Dean's earlier question took on a new light of clarity. Slowly, Castiel crossed to the door and opened it….

Dean's heart stuttered as he looked up to see the face of heaven. No, he wasn't heaven.

He was better. So much better. His own angel, the one who had opened the door that had, for so many years, remained sealed and taunting.

But it was wide open now, and standing in the doorway with his hand outstretched and welcoming was his blue-eyed angel come to save him from hell. First literal, then one of his own creation.

"Come inside, Dean. Come in where it's warm."

Before he could talk himself out of it, he stood and took the offered hand.

Castiel's skin was so warm it burned him.

The angel pulled him into his arms, holding him tightly. Dean shook at the warmth and unexpected closeness. At the shattering sensation of Cas's warm breath on his frozen skin.

It was only a hug, but it was so much more. It was hot. Soothing. It was miraculous.

Was this acceptance?

Was this nirvana?

He wasn't sure. But for once, Dean didn't want to wake up from this dream.

He started a bit as a warm blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Cas's arms still held him tight.

Dean brushed his cheek against Castiel's. The angel was soft. So soft. He'd never imagined the unpredictable, awkward angel could be like this. So warm and inviting. So human.

The warmth of his cheek took away the stinging burn of the cold. It crept through Dean until he thawed completely out. Even the heart he'd tried for so many years to keep encased in ice.

The unexpected sweetness of the gesture shook Castiel slightly.

He'd seen enough of the hunter's life to know that gentleness and kindness weren't things he'd had much experience with, but Dean held him almost… tenderly.

He pulled back and stared at Castiel as if he were inexplicably precious to him. He brushed the back of his knuckles against the angel's jaw; his eyes dark and tormented as if unable to believe Cas were real.

But then he smiled suddenly. If someone had finally opened the door after all these years, maybe…

Slowly he leaned towards the angel's tempting lips. "You're so warm."

Sitting in the motel room, Sam drew a grateful breath as his brother's erratic tossing and turning came to a stop. He watched, perplexed, as the tortured set of Dean's features smoothed to be replaced by a peaceful smile. His worries finally alleviated, Sam settles back into bed, hoping to get a few hours of sleep in before dawn. Before sleep claimed him completely, Sam had just enough time to wonder where Castiel had gone.

_###_


End file.
